Winds esker               
  
                                          
 There Was This Place That For Two  Years 
 I Couldn'T  Go  To. Regardless How  Much 
 Discussed  With Others, Or  Pointed  Out 
 On Maps,  I  Could Not Think Of It  When 
 Alone.  I Would  Often Travel  Past  The 
 Fork, Where  A  Right  Turn Would Surely 
 Take Me There, But  Even Then, Something 
              Kept Me Away.               
                                          
 When  I Finally  Got There,  After  Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place  Was  Surreal.   An 
 Esker, Like  A  Needle-Thin  Rift Out In 
 The  Lake,  But  Ten  Meters   High  And 
 Adorned In  Birch,  Willow, Bracken, And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice The  View To  Either Side.  There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T Recognize Them.  First Off,  They 
 Were Much Too  Close, As The Lake Should 
 Stretch For A  Hundred  Meters  More  On 
 Both  Sides. But  Now  I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost  Reach  Out  And Touch  Them. And 
 Then, When I  Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They Were  Of  The Right Lake.  But This 
       Lake Is Large, Fractured, And      
 Bipartite. Like  A  Pair Of Lungs Carved 
 Into The Granite, And With No  Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood Them As  Belonging Many Miles 
                  Away.                   
                                          
 I  Examined  The  Ridge,   The  Treeline 
 Above. Was  This What You  Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                 Remember.                
                                          
 Carrying Forward,  On  The  Very Tip  Of 
 The Esker,  I  Found  The Ruins  Of Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
 Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath  
 The  Moss,  And Strange  Slabs  Inserted 
 Into  The Slope  Like  Dams  Against The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There,  I  Could See Across  The 
 Narrowed Lake My Entire Path To  Where I 
 Sat:  From The  Stairwell Of  My  House, 
 Through  The  Old  Woods Behind The Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And  Then Back  Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy  Villas,  Over   The 
 Fields, And Then That Right Turn At  The 
                   Fork.                  
                                          
 And  Then The Stairs  Up  On The  Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This Was  Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In  A Grove,  There  Were Stairs 
 Much Like  The Ones I Currently Sat  On, 
 Old  And Worn  Down,  That  Lead You  Up 
 Onto The  Esker. The Point Of Entry. Had 
 I Insted Opted To  Walk The  Path At Its 
 Foot,  I'M  Sure My  Experience Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On   The  Lake,  There  Were  People  In 
 Boats.  I Wondered,  Could They Even See 
 Me? If I Shouted,  Would  They  Turn  To 
         Stare Right Through Me?